


Perfect

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M, punching your bandmate for not punching you to prove that he loves you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: Tsuyoshi squinted at his bandmate's confused face, his thoughts leaping tall buildings of logic in a single bound. "If you really like me, then hit me."(Written January 2014.)





	

Tsuyoshi was, by nature, a worrier. From the start, he'd worried about how pointy his face was, how he was bad at singing and not very good at dancing, how he couldn't seem to say anything that people would laugh at on purpose. It didn't get any better over the years-- he wasn't sexy, he wasn't even the slightest bit cool, and he'd never have any fans, because how could people possibly be proud to like him? He embarrassed his own bandmates half of the time. Surely they were simply tolerating his presence, resigned to pulling twice as hard to make up for this idiot who'd never sell.  
  
Even Shingo, constantly by his side, surely aspired to greater things. The younger boy had taken some time to find his own talents, but nonetheless he'd found them-- he was funny and confident and artistic and was good at acting and singing and everything it took to be in the spotlight. Compared to that, what did Tsuyoshi have to offer?  
  
Surely SMAP would be better off without him, right?  
  
"Don't be stupid," his younger bandmate had said, ruffling his hair. "SMAP wouldn't be SMAP without Tsuyopon."  
  
But as reassuring as his best friend's words were, Tsuyoshi still accumulated a history of embarrassment and failure. No one knew his name. They knew his name, but no one wanted him in a drama. He finally had roles in dramas, but they were always the nice guy, because that was all he was in SMAP. He tried to host a show and failed. He tried to host a show but ended up letting the co-host lead it because he didn't have the confidence or the wit to make it on his own. He was the weakest chef on Bistro. He was actually more tone-deaf than Nakai. And no matter how much he promised himself that this time, _this_ time, he wouldn't go drinking the night before a concert and come to rehearsal hungover, there had never once been a time when he hadn't disappointed Kimura.  
  
He'd learned to laugh about it over the years, focusing on the good things and pushing the rest to back of his mind to come out only when he'd been drinking too much. But even Shingo's unswerving friendship couldn't magically seal over the fault lines in his personality, and he liked to drink, more than he should. And so it happened that one night, in a story Shingo would later tell the entire country on television, he punched his bandmate in the face.  
  
They were both drunk, but Tsuyoshi was drunker, and as they stumbled into a taxi together, he wondered once again why on earth Shingo hung out with him. Shingo was funny and talented and confident and everything Tsuyoshi wasn't. Surely he deserved better company, right?  
  
"Hey, Shingo... do you like me?"  
  
"Huh? Yeah, 'course I do."  
  
"But do you really? You actually hate me, don't you?"  
  
"What? Of course I like you! What's with you all of a sudden?"  
  
Tsuyoshi squinted at his bandmate's confused face, his thoughts leaping tall buildings of logic in a single bound. "If you really like me, then hit me."  
  
Shingo refused flat-out, and somehow, in a bright, shimmering, non-existent equation in Tsuyoshi's head, this resulted in _him_ punching his bandmate instead, and then sobbing apologies as the younger man attempted to stanch a bleeding nose. Shingo was quiet for the rest of the ride, but he kept one hand on Tsuyoshi's back, rubbing it as soothingly as he could. He helped Tsuyoshi up to his apartment when they arrived, and they both washed their faces.  
  
"I'll bet you really _do_ hate me now," Tsuyoshi mumbled, leaning on the edge of the sink for balance.  
  
Shingo grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug from behind. "Quit saying that. There's no way I could ever hate you."  
  
Tsuyoshi leaned back into Shingo's chest; his feet were threatening to give way, but his bandmate was reassuringly strong and solid. "I could never hate you, either," he murmured, one hand coming up to cling to Shingo's sleeve. "'Cause, 'cause--" Because Shingo was too perfect, surely Tsuyoshi could never even hope to be good enough for him. "--'cause I think 'm in love with you."  
  
Even through the drunken fuzziness in his brain, Tsuyoshi realized that this was probably not what he'd meant to say. Now he'd done it, he really _was_ a failure, he'd said the one thing that could bring their friendship crashing to a halt--  
  
Shingo twisted him around roughly, and kissed him. It was a clumsy, half-drunk kiss that would have been terrible if either of them had been sober, but now it was perfect, more perfect than the answer to any shimmering, nonexistent equation Tsuyoshi might have dreamed up. He melted into his bandmate, letting him deepen the kiss, twining his fingers into the younger man's shirt so that he'd never have to let go again.  
  
"Don't ever think you're not good enough again," Shingo told him, when they broke apart to catch their breath. He frowned, looking at Tsuyoshi seriously. "'Cause-- 'cause I love you more than anything in the world, okay?"  
  
Tsuyoshi looked back at Shingo, perfect Shingo who was funny and talented and confident and everything Tsuyoshi wasn't, and felt like maybe, maybe there wasn't anything to worry about after all. "Okay," he agreed, and sighed happily as Shingo pulled him into another hug. Maybe not everything he wanted was completely out of his reach after all.  
  
Because maybe, with Shingo's arms wrapped around him, even Tsuyoshi could be perfect, too.


End file.
